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Thursday, January 3, 2013

for Zach Ivins

So I finally managed to avoid the inevitable.
“Bound to happen at some point,” remarks Zach.
Finding this too clever by half, I end up either
denying that reality “works” in a “certain way”
or waiting for Natalie to emerge from practice.
Girls basketball: chorus of shoes squeaking,
sweaty ponytails snapping like wet towels.
You know what? I don’t even like having options.
I don’t even, like, have options. I’m as mortal
as a locomotive, beaming sunnily across
colorfully brand-marked bridges, Iron Rooster
shooting a red streak across the heart of China.
I don’t even, like, ever go to China, but I know
what it feels like to be crisscrossed against
my will, to be arguably overpopulated, overly
blessed in some ways and not only by
middle school athletes and their parents
but by concessions. Man do some dads get angry
while not spilling popcorn from overfull boxes.
I don’t want to be that way. Guess what I’m
issuing here is a warning, actually, that I
and my passel of young dribblers are about to
board your train; where it goes is up to you.
To some extent, at least. Can’t stress that enough.